Go Away
by McMuffinDragon
Summary: Frustrated in his relationship with America, England sometimes wishes there was a way to make him disappear forever and find a normal boyfriend. Japan and Germany seem to have the solution to England's problem, though there may be more to it than that...


He sat alone in a high end New York restaurant, glancing at his watch every now and again. The place was crowded; there were people lined up just to make reservations. The seat across from him was empty, had been for almost two hours. He wondered where his date was; he'd told him the correct date, hadn't he? The fifteenth, he was sure he'd told Alfred, Saturday the fifteenth.

So then why wasn't he here? England whipped out his mobile and tapped out a text message: where the hell are you? The young woman waiting on him was poised next to his elbow.

"Sir," She said, "I'm afraid I need your table for an incoming couple; you'll have to leave." England looked glumly up at her, and she apologized at least three times and told him to speak with the man at the door about arranging another reservation as he rose and left.

The night air was cool, and there was still a bit of light left in the sky as England headed for his hotel, having not stopped to negotiate a new dinner reservation. He took his phone out again and selected Alfred's number.

"You're one hell of a chav, you know that?" He told the answering machine, "I sit waiting for you for two bleeding hours, and you don't show up or even call or anything! Are you even in New York? I swear to God if you're hiding in Washington or Boston or-or San Diego, I'll find you and-and give you a piece of my mind!" The phone shut with a snap, and it took all England had not to throw the device into the busy street.

He came to the hotel and made a beeline for the elevator, ignoring the receptionist who began quickly dialing the phone upon seeing him. The man riding in the lift with him was more than happy to leave at his floor. England swiped his card at his door and entered the room to find the lights out. Furrowing his brow, the Englishman could have sworn he'd left them on when he'd left.

Groping for the switch, his fingers grazed something warm and fleshy; then the lights came up, and England found America without a shirt standing before him.

"What are you doing here?"

America just shushed, repeatedly, as he reached a leg around England to flick the door shut while the Englishman was yelling about something. He picked his lover up, with only a little bit of trouble, and tossed him, somewhat unceremoniously, onto the bed.

"Artie, calm down," He laughed on his way back to the light switch; "I'm here to make it all better," America whispered in the dark.

England woke the next morning to find a note in America's place:

_Back to Washington, babe. Stay beautiful ;D_

_(a sloppily drawn heart) Alfred_

With a groan, he rolled over and put his feet on the floor. It was half past nine; he had to be at the airport by 11. England had hoped he and America could have had breakfast, a walk in the park perhaps, something normal couples do. Standing with a sigh, he went to take a shower.

Afterward, England sat in the chair by the window with his phone against his cheek, staring out the window listlessly. "I just don't understand what makes him think it's okay to not come to dinner. I fly here every three weeks to do something with him, and half the time he doesn't show or he's late or he waits for me to give up and come back to my hotel."

"And what happens during the other times?" Japan asked on the other end of the line. England could faintly hear the sounds of some television game show in the background but knew his friend was listening attentively. "The times when America-san is with you."

"I don't know if those are worse or better!" England shouted, standing up and continuing to talk over Japan's apology for asking a troublesome question. "Whenever we're doing something he won't shut up about himself and his boss and sports," he groaned and flopped onto the bed, "the sports, Kiku. He and I went hiking a few months ago because, you know, I don't get a lot of chances to hike at home, and I had to hear all about the damned World Series. Then I try to tell him about how Manchester has been playing, and he just cuts me off and says football is stupid. Well, of course he said i_soccer_/i, but you get the point."

"Of course," Japan replied.

"I just," England let out a deep sigh, "I wonder if it's worth it to have a relationship, you know? I suppose that's just the way it has to be." His eyes caught sight of the alarm clock showing him 10:04 in large green numbers. "Oh bollocks," he muttered, almost falling off the bed, "Kiku, I have to get to the airport."

"Have a safe flight, Arthur-san," his friend murmured with a stifled yawn.

"Thanks," England smiled as he rushed into the hall and bolted for the elevator, "Uh, sleep well."

"You're welcome, and thank you."

After a quiet flight, England was relieved to arrive home. He opened the door of his flat. The Englishman shuffled forward into the hall, intent on collapsing into bed.

"I've been waiting for you," a voice said from the living room.

"Who's there?" England hissed, squinting into the low light. He held his suitcase ready to bludgeon the intruder.

"Oh, come on, Artie, don't you recognize me?" The lamp in the room clicked on, and America was bathed in light, sitting in the Briton's favorite high backed chair. England dropped his suitcase with a clatter and stammered angrily. The American rose and strode over with a smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" England finally blurted out when America put an arm around his shoulders.

"Eh, I felt bad about having to ditch you," he sighed, "I figured we could go out, how 'bout it?" England stared up at him with a blank face. "Or," the American whispered, leaning down, "we could just go to bed, jet lag and all."

England turned his face away; "No," he muttered.

"No to what?" America frowned.

"No to you," the shorter man removed himself from his lover's grip. "Go."

"What?" the American stood dumbfounded as England opened the door.

"I'm telling you to leave."

"Like forever?" America slowly went and stepped over the threshold into the corridor. The Englishman's face didn't change from his blank, slightly annoyed, expression. The door closed slowly between them. "Artie," he called loudly, "I seriously don't get it. Do you want to break up? Let's talk, c'mon."

England's hand hovered at the doorknob as America prattled on. He let his hand fall with a sigh and walked slowly to bed.

"Hello, England-san" a soft Asian voice answered the phone after only a single ring, "Is everything alright?"

"Good morning, Kiku," the Englishman said softly in the dark. The clock on the nightstand glowed 11:45. "Everything's fine, but..." He fell silent, staring up at the ceiling. Neither party said anything for a good two minutes. "He broke into my home. He flew all the way here before I did and tried to be all romantic, said we should go out here."

"My, that's quite troublesome," Japan replied, "What did you do?"

"Told him to leave."

"So you've split up?" Japan was quick to respond. If England didn't know any better he could have sworn there was a trace of hope in the Asian man's usually flat tone.

"No," England answered at first, "I-yes, I mean, I don't know. He's gentle and strong and sort of funny, but then he's just so stupid and thoughtless, and he thinks he's been romantic, but he just tries to cover up the fact that he forgets everything with random chauvinistic gestures. I-I just wish he'd go away..."

The line was silent on both ends; England started to doze off. "I think I can help you, Arthur-san," the Japanese man's voice was barely audible.

"What?" the Englishman couldn't be sure of what he had heard. "How?"

"I have some arrangements to make beforehand," Japan said quickly, "goodbye." He hung up before England could reply. Puzzled, England set the phone down on the bedside table and lay awake through the night, wondering what his friend could possibly do for him.

A full three days passed, England went about his usual internal affairs business. He heard nothing from America and made no attempt to contact the country himself. There was no news from Japan about his cryptic promise of help either.

At least, not until the Brit sifted through the mail when he got home. There was a blank envelope with a plane ticket inside for Frankfurt and a train ticket to Ulm, with a note: 'We have no phone. We will explain when you arrive. Please tell no one that you are leaving. -Japan.'

England went up stairs and tossed some clothes into a bag. He slept very poorly again that night; something wasn't right, but the Englishman rose in the morning and went to the airport. His plane ride was eternal, and it seemed as though he would ever arrive.

When the announcement for Ulm came over the intercom, England was the first person out of the train. He found Japan waiting on the steps of the station.

"Okay, what's going on?" The Brit said in a clipped tone before Japan could even say hello. It was unbelievably aggravating to come all the way here with no explanations.

"Please come with me," the Asian said upon analyzing the situation, "we cannot talk here; it's too public." So Japan lead the way with England steaming in his wake. They walked through the town, then out of it into the countryside. England grew more and more frustrated; he tried many times to get his friend to talk, but as usual, the Asian remained silent.

Then at least one of England's questions was answered, while about a dozen more came up, as they approached a large warehouse of sorts tucked away from the road, like no one wanted it to be seen. At a heavy steel door on the side of the building, Japan pressed his thumb onto a little copper plate and tapped a code into an adjacent keypad while England stared up at a security camera. "Please put your thumb here," he instructed England. The Brit did so and felt a short electric pulse run up his arm as Japan punched in a code. There was a heavy haunting sound of deadbolts being released on the other side, and Japan pulled the door open.

Inside, everything was clean, white, and sterile; the florescent light bulbs made it hard to look at without being blinded. There were people in lab coats and full body suits going from room to room. When England's eyes adjusted to the light and the gleam, he saw Japan was already halfway down the hall. The Brit jogged to catch up. After a twisting, turning path and a couple flights of stairs down, they came to another door and the process of thumb scanning and code typing was repeated. They entered into a huge almost airplane hangar like room with only one thing in it: a large foreboding machine with the stencil letters CC on the side. It had a variety of keys and knobs, none of which were labeled. As they approached, there was a click on the other end of the machine, and Germany rose up from behind it. He eyed England with a look of general worry and disapproval.

"I really don't think we're ready to run this," he said to Japan in a low tone while England pretended to examine the machine.

"We must test it or it shall never be perfected," the Asian man reasoned to his partner, "and England-san is truly in need of our services." They shared a look and silently made an agreement.

"England," the tall German said as he stepped up to the machine.

"I want some answers," the Brit snapped crisply, "Why did you bring me here? What is this machine? and How can you possibly help me?"

Germany glanced back at Japan, who gave him a little gesture to keep going. "This machine," Germany said, clearly trying to put it into layman's terms, "makes people go away."

"Go away?" England echoed with a heavy tone of criticism.

"Vanish, never exist at all."

"That-That's impossible," England rolled his eyes and wondered if this was some kind of joke.

"Really?" Germany typed quickly and pulled up a few photos on a display screen in the middle of the machine. "Do you recognize any of these people?" England stared at the faces; there was a woman with long pale hair and an intense look in her eyes, a man who looked like he was related to the woman-he had a much more child-like face and violet eyes, another man with a bright smile and a brunette curl that seemed to defy gravity, and an albino man with red eyes and a cocky grin.

"No," he replied roughly, "should I know these people?"

"No," Japan answered from his elbow, "They do not exist; they never existed. Every trace of them is gone."

England examined the pictures a bit more before a question occurred to him, "Then how do you have these pictures? Wouldn't that make...I dunno a paradox or something?" The Brit felt strangely like he was in an episode of Doctor Who.

"Yes, that posed quite a problem," Germany murmured, wiping the pictures from the screen and leaving it blank. "We spent eight years trying to find a way of getting around that."

"So, how'd you do it?" England asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"It would take another eight years to explain," Germany answered, sharply turning to him then away, "You wouldn't be interested." England opened his mouth to retort but then considered that yes, he wasn't interested enough to press the matter.

"But destroying people?" he said quietly to Germany, "haven't you had problems with that before?"

Germany tensed and didn't answer for some time. Over England's shoulder, he could feel Japan holding his breath while pretending to fiddle with a clipboard. "This is completely different," the German replied blankly, "This was not my idea; we were hired to create the machine."

"Who would want something like this?" England barked.

Both parties froze again; "Our benefactor has asked to remain anonymous," Japan answered as though they were on trial.

England glared blankly at the two of them. "How is this supposed to help me at all?"

"We can get rid of someone for you," Japan said in almost a tender way, "Someone who had caused you pain, given you troubles."

"America," England muttered with his eyebrows knit together.

"Perhaps, yes," Japan hinted, leaning forward a little.

England screwed up with face, "I can't believe you would think that destroying him could be the only solution to my problems with him." The Brit stormed for the door.

"Arthur-san," the Asian man called, rushing after him, "please give the matter some consideration." Germany remained standing by the machine, staring at it, hoping Japan would let England leave.

In the hall, Japan continued to tail his friend, "please," he begged, "let us discuss this matter, allow me to explain." England slowed to a stop but didn't turn around. He glanced back.

"This better be good," he snarled.

In a little kitchen room, Japan was engaged in making tea while England sat, angrily drumming his fingers on the table. "Understand, England-san," Japan began as he set a mug of Earl Grey tea down in front of his friend before turning to fetch his own tea.

"Understand why killing America is a good idea?" England snapped, pounding a fist on the tabletop and making his tea jump.

"Understand," the Asian continued without missing a beat, "that the machine does not kill a person." England opened his mouth to shout again. "It simply makes a person vanish, harmlessly, painlessly. It is perhaps better than death, even, as one never existed." The Brit paused and sipped his tea; there was something off about its taste. They probably only had tea bags; that had to be it. He made a little sound on understanding, and a couple minutes passed in silence. "I wish you would give the matter some consideration," Japan continued flatly, "before simply denouncing it." England blinked heavily as he took a few more sips of tea. He opened his mouth a couple times but his tongue felt like it weighed a hundred kilos.

"I-I might still love him," England managed to say, "Him not existing would strain our relationship for sure."

"How can you love someone who disrespects you so?" Japan asked calmly. "Someone who never listens? Never cares for you? How is that love, Arthur-san?" England stared down into his tea. "Don't you deserve someone who puts you above all others?" The Brit half shrugged half nodded and mumbled a few things.

Japan watched as England quickly became disoriented and struggled to maintain consciousness. Within a couple minutes, his friend was hunched over the table with his hand still clasped around the half full mug.

Germany slipped a microscope slide with a sample of America's DNA that Japan had lifted from England's coat on it into the machine. "This is wrong," he said as an image of Alfred Jones came up.

"Yet you are still doing it," Japan replied quietly.

Germany sighed and entered the codes to commence termination-they had been unable to come up with a better word for it. "Only to test the machine," he insisted. "I had nothing against America, or any of the others, I believe." They left the machine to run its program with the mutual understanding that this needed to be done, though their reasons differed greatly.

England woke from a dreamless sleep on a bare cot. He sat up shakily and looked around; the room had a chair and table and a sink with a mirror, but nothing else. Was he in prison? What had happened? The Englishman could vaguely remember talking with Japan, but everything else was a strange haze or not there at all. It was then that the door swung open and Japan entered with a tray containing some tea and toast.

"I am please that you are awake," he said, striding over to the table and putting the tray down. He poured England a cup of tea and brought it over to him. "You slept for quite some time."

"Where are we?" the Brit asked slowly, staring at his tea.

"Ulm," Japan answered as though the answer was obvious, "we invited you here to preview our latest measures on international security."

"Oh yes," England nodded, suddenly feeling incredibly dim for having forgotten. "Shall we go then?" He stood up and swayed a little, and Japan led the way out.

They entered into a huge almost airplane hangar like room with only one thing in it: a large foreboding machine with the stencil letters CC on the side. It had a variety of keys and knobs, none of which were labeled. As they approached, there was a click on the other end of the machine, and Germany rose up from behind it. "Hello England," he said blankly, "I trust you're feeling better."

"Uh, yeah," England muttered, scratching the back of his neck; he still wasn't even sure what had been wrong with him. "So, what is this thing?" he tapped on the black plastic of the control panel.

"It's a new system we've developed," Germany explained, "for the protection of spies that allows us to wipe a person's whole record instantly." There was a little chirping sound, and Japan checked his cell phone.

"Please excuse me," he said hastily, rushing from the room.

"We can already do that though," England pointed out as he watched Germany pull up a world map after Japan had gone. His eyes were focused on the highlighted countries of Europe, but in England's side sight, he saw an expanse of water beneath Canada: the Amerigo Sea. Something was odd about it, yet England knew it had always been there.

"-but while we may erase the German or English records very easily," Germany had been saying, "the Turkish or Chinese records still exist." The former nations were shaded white while the latter blinked red. "Our system can blank these records as well." The red nations went to white.

"This is fascinating," The Brit remarked, "it'll usher in a whole new generation of intelligence." Germany agreed. They began an extensive discussion on intelligence and roamed back to stories of spies in the wars.

Germany glanced at his watch, "Oh, I hadn't realized it had gotten so late." England was about to ask what time it was when the German said, "Would you like to have dinner with me?" England considered the invitation as Germany shut the machine down. He didn't have any reason not to, and Germany was a perfectly reasonable man: a smart, serious, mature man.

"I'd love to," the Englishman replied with a smile.

The two sat drinking their second beers after a plate of wurst and potatoes. "It's so charming here," England stated, speaking plainly of the countryside but hinting at the man across from him.

"Mm, thank you," The German replied, setting his beer down. "It's very relaxing." He set his hand down close to England's own. "Arthur," Germany began once he had drained the last of his beer from the glass and had sneaked his hand over his companion's; the Brit made a noise to show he was listening and didn't take his hand away. "I was curious, and it's fine if you say no; I keep a small apartment in town," he continued hesitantly with a soft blush in his face, "to remain close to the project," was his quick explanation and his voice became much lower as he said, "and I was curious if you would return there with me."

They left the restaurant with their hands still together and feeling just a bit buzzed. Little known to the two nations, Japan was walking in their wake on his way back to the boarding house where he stayed during the development of the machine. He watched as his friends turned the corner, closer than they should be.

Germany's apartment was above a flower shop; the two stumbled a bit in the dark, and their lips met clumsily at the top of the stairs as Germany tried to unlock the door and remove his jacket at the same time.

England woke the next morning when rolled over to find only a warm spot where Germany had been. He sat up as the man in question entered the room. "Japan called about a flaw discovered in the system program; I need to go over and see it."

"Should I come with?" England asked, shifting to get out of bed.

"No," he said firmly, "You stay. I won't be gone long." England smiled and watched the German leave.

Germany entered the room that housed the machine, "what happened?" he asked as he rushed over to Japan who stood at the main console with a microscope slide containing Germany's DNA. "What is wrong?"

"You are wrong." Japan replied darkly, sliding the sample into the machine.

"What do you-whose was that?" Germany's skin turned gray, and he froze up.

"You are wrong," the Asian repeated, looking his friend up in the face, "for Arthur-san." Realization came to Germany, and he tried find a way to explain. "Your love with him is-is," Japan's jealousy was so strong it began to crack his stoic exterior. "It is wrong." With a few deft keystrokes, he initiated the program, and when he turned back, Germany was gone.

Meanwhile, England waited for nearly an hour and a half. He decided to go see if everything was alright. Waiting outside the warehouse was Japan, who smiled no wider than usual though the feeling behind that smile was much stronger. "Uh, g'morning, Japan," England said, trying not to jump straight to his questions.

"A very good morning to you as well, Arthur-san," the Asian replied with a bow. They stood there for nearly two minutes with England feeling awkward and Japan hanging off every moment he spent with England.

"Mmm, where's Germany?" the Brit finally asked, scratching the back of his neck. Japan was his good friend, but something in the Asian's demeanor was putting him on edge.

"He's gone," Japan answered plainly with a minuscule widening of his smile.

"Gone?" England echoed, "Where?"

"There's only us here now," he moved closer to the blond a couple of inches. "Someone who listens to you, respects you, cares for you," with every example, Japan came closer and closer; England tried to shuffle back, "puts you above all others," the Asian grabbed his love's wrist firmly. "Loves you the way a lover should in every way." He pulled England close and pressed their lips together.

England's breath caught in his throat, and he slowly closed his eyes. Then he felt nothing against his lips. With his eyes open, he saw only the door and wall of the warehouse.

"Please come inside, Arthur," a speaker by the security camera told him. England swore he could recognize the voice; it sounded so much like someone he once knew. The warehouse door wasn't locked though the keypad and thumb scan remained. The interior was still sterile and white, but there were no employees rushing about. England walked slowly when the same voice came back to the intercom and requested he come inside again; his footsteps echoed as the Brit made his way to the location of the CC machine.

He entered into the huge almost airplane hangar like room with two things in it: the large foreboding machine with the stencil letters CC on the side and-

"Canada?" England said, pausing in the doorway.

"Arthur," the young man smiled, "I'm so glad you could come."

"Wh-What are you doing here?" the Brit asked as he came farther into the room.

"This is my machine," Canada replied with a marked tone of pride. "I had it built; oh it took a long time, but it's been so worth it to get you alone." His words hung in England's brain, trying to make sense; then, he remembered an anonymous benefactor for Germany and Japan's project...the project that...

"Destroys people!" England shouted as the blanks filled in. He stared wide eyed at Canada, who leaned casually against the machine as though it was a copier. "Why would you want something like that built?"

"Because you don't pay attention," Canada answered with a sad voice, "You don't see...well, you see, but you don't ever look." He took a few steps toward England and smiled a little. "I had to find a way to remove your distractions, so you could see, you could understand that I love you, Arthur. I did this all for you." England's face remained blank but slowly darkened.

"How could you do that?" he asked in disbelief which quickly became anger. "You wiped a dozen innocent nations off the map for your own gain." Canada's face fell. "You expect me to be impressed by that? To applaud you? _Love_ you? No, Matthew, no I don't love you; I'm-I'm sickened by you." He turned on his heel.

"I-I can destroy you too," Canada threatened. England paused and looked over his shoulder. The Canadian was back at the controls with a plastic slide.

"If you love me so much," England turned back, "how could you destroy me?"

Canada stared at him with tears in his blue eyes, "Because," he gasped, "if you won't love me, then I wish you'd never existed." He held the slide to the machine. "So what will it be? Do you love me?" England stood still; he didn't even know what to do. "Alright then," he took a fistful of his hair and tore. Hastily laying a couple hairs on the slide, Canada pushed it into the machine.

"Matthew, wait!" England shouted, running for the machine. The DNA information appeared on the screen showing it to be Matthew Williams'. England froze and looked from Canada's hand hovering over the keys to the young man's unreadable face.

"It was a blank slide," he said quietly, "I just wanted you to change your mind." Before England could say or do anything, the other nation entered the command to terminate.

He woke with a start. The tall grasses tickled his bare cheeks and hands. This was a field. How the hell did he get here? Upon trying to recall the past few hours, he could remember nothing. Had he been drugged and dumped in this field? or...perhaps he had gotten pissed and passed out here. Alcohol didn't seem like a valid explanation; he felt no traces of a hangover and stood up, dusting himself off, with no trouble at all. After a quick pat down, England found he still had his wallet and mobile, which had no service.

After a short walk, England found a road and spotted the steeple of a church peeking over the trees. A couple of farms stood quietly and watched him walk by; soon, a sign welcomed him to the town of Vashfeld. England jumped at the sound of a car horn behind him. He trotted to the side of the road. The driver of the car was a young dark haired man. He rolled down the car window. "Ques-qui ne va pas?" the young man called. _Bollocks,_ England thought, _French? I should've known that frog was behind this._

"Are you okay, sir?" The driver asked in thick accented English, "Something is wrong? You need help?"

"Ah, yes," England came closer to the car and asked slowly, "Is there a train here?" The young man looked confused; it seemed those three sentences were all the English he spoke. "Uh," England strained his brain for the French word, tapping on the car roof with an impatient finger. "Oh! Une gare?"

Understanding dawned on the driver's face, and he nodded. He reached over and threw the passenger side door open while England was trying to figure out how to ask for directions.

The young man drove him to the train station. England virtually jumped from the vehicle as it came slowly to a stop while the good Samaritan reached for his wallet to give the stranger money for a ticket.

England found when he entered the station that he was actually in Switzerland. He approached the ticket counter and clumsily bought a ticket to Zurich. While waiting for the train, England examined a map hanging on the platform wall. Switzerland and Austria were much bigger than before. _Before what__, though_, he thought. A couple of hours had done nothing to help clear his memory.

The train ride was spent trying to sleep, but England found that nearly impossible as visions of people he felt he knew flooded his mind's eye every time he tried: a broad shouldered blond man with sharp blue eyes who smiled at him, a short Asian man with cropped black hair and a polite smile, a grinning young man with a bomber jacket, and another who looked just like him but was tearing his hair out. Someone tapped England's shoulder, and he heard 'Zurich' being announced twice. He shakily left the train.

It was slightly easier to navigate around a metropolitan area; more people spoke better English, and he found himself in the airport within the hour and on a flight back to London.

Thankfully, Heathrow hadn't changed. Looking down from a ledge, England's eyes skimmed a mosaic outlining the landmasses of the world. Moments later, he was walking across that same mosaic himself, headed for the Underground station. The nation paused and stood on top of a large gap in the northern Atlantic Ocean.

It seemed as though something was missing, but he couldn't recall what.


End file.
